


Artificial heart

by Duskscribe



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, M/M, post-character death, rako hardeen arc fixit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskscribe/pseuds/Duskscribe
Summary: Piece by piece, he builds his lover.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Artificial heart

His lover is gears and servos and metal, pieces of him scattered across his room like outspread constellations. Here are his hands, with the strength to crush boulders and the tenderness to lay bandages. Here, his feet, which have carried his lover from planet to planet, system to system, miles that he can only guess at. His legs, his arms, his shoulders (how strong his shoulders need to be, with the weight he carries upon them), and in the midst of it all, his heart. Delicate valves, a complex pump, the synthetic material capable of reproducing both sound and function. When he rests his head on his lover’s chest, he will hear the steady thumping (and oh, how the thought thrills him). 

The face needs careful attention, because for how often he has looked in his lover’s eyes, or glanced askance at his profile, memory always falls short of a flawless reproduction. It takes a covert delve into the archives to retrieve what he needs, and while the wavering blue light is not the perfect facsimile, it is enough. There’s the curve of his lips, the creases around his eyes, the divot in his chin (and how often he has longed to kiss that, the one little thing hidden beneath the softness of his beard like a secret), and the freckles, the bumps, the scars that make the man who he is.

And the hair - that’s a necessity, too, and one more difficult to source. It takes exploring several options before he finds a synthetic he likes, and even then it’s a matter of reproducing the ideal shade of a nearly set sun. Each eyelash is placed individually, contrasting beautifully with his irises (and that, too, is custom - it’d taken a steady hand to bring out the exact shade of blue, much less the dark limbic ring, and the curious spike of brown in the right eye). 

The skeleton is tested and retested for durability. Among the metals (stronger than durasteel - this model is built to outlast the republic, the Jedi, and all that come after), are curious flecks of stone. They feel porous, but are not - the only thing that sings through them is the Force. They hum with the energy of the universe, individual voices rising in harmony with each careful placement. In the skull. In the throat. In the chest, in the hands, in the hips, in the feet, a perfect, singing symmetry. He does not know if they soak up his thoughts, his prayers, but he speaks to them as if they can. He projects the memories in his mind - training sessions, nightmares, smiles, tears, hands in his own, eyes on his own, light, warmth, protection, love. His lover smells like tea and smiles like a sunrise. His lover is perfect, and not, a bundle of expectations and duties and pressures laid over sentiment and care. Never once has he placed himself over others. Never once has he failed to offer his own life, if there was more at stake. 

He was taken from the universe too soon. 

He was taken from Anakin too soon.

But in the robes, like this, the vessel seems as if it’s sleeping. The longer he looks at it, the easier he can imagine the rise and the fall, the gentle rhythm broken only by the incomprehensible murmurs of a dreamer. Soon, he will have this again. Force, _please_ let him have this again. 

The initialization begins. He cannot breathe, or speak, or think, just watching and waiting and hoping (for what, exactly, he isn’t sure, because he had never imagined that he would make it this far, to the eventual fruition), and for a moment, he thinks this never happened. That this will be some terrible, year long dream, and he’ll wake to find his lover, rumpled and sweet over a cup of tea. 

When the android opens his eyes and offers a smile, the same smile, Anakin can almost believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a lovely Obikintober art from shatou - https://twitter.com/shatouto/status/1321242202010492928?s=21
> 
> Plz send her love! 
> 
> Title is from the Jonathan Coulton song.


End file.
